She pushed the thoughts aside as she crossed the rectangular room. “What time is the case review meeting scheduled for?”
Brenda looked briefly over her shoulder. “Four-thirty.”
Dione nodded. “What about the house meeting?”
“I’ll draft up the notice and have it under everyone’s door. The proposal is on your desk downstairs.”
“Thanks.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Bren?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you really think this documentary is the way to go?” She folded her arms and leaned against the door frame.
Brenda laid down the file and faced Dione. “We’ve pretty much run out of options. The proposal sounds good and if marketed properly could get us the financing we need. That’s what we have to focus on.” She waited a beat, looking at Dione’s faraway expression. “What’s really bothering you, Dee? I don’t think it’s just the girls.”
Dione straightened. “Why would you think that? Of course that’s all there is. I don’t want them exploited.”
Brenda looked at Dione for a long moment. “If you say so.” She turned back to the file cabinet.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“Sure,” Brenda mumbled.
Dione returned to her basement office, leaving the door partially open. Even though Brenda and Ms. Betsy had insisted that she close her door while she was working, Dione never wanted any of the girls to feel that she was inaccessible. Her steadfast policy interrupted many a thought process, but she stood by it.
She turned on the small lavender and white clock radio that was given to her as a gift from one of the former residents the previous Christmas. As the sultry sounds of Regina Bell overcame the static and filled the room, she thought about the question Brenda asked.
How could she tell Brenda that yes, she was right, the girls’ privacy wasn’t all that she was concerned with. She was concerned with her own privacy and what the probing of this documentary may uncover, that the lie she’d woven for the past eighteen years would become unraveled.
That’s what she didn’t want to risk, hurting Niyah with the truth. But at what cost?
She blew out a breath and opened the folder that contained the proposal. G.L. Productions stared back at her in thick, black capital letters. A tiny jolt shot through her. She wasn’t sure why. Blinking, she turned the page and began reviewing what G.L. Productions had proposed to do in order to fulfill the requirements of the granting agency.
According to what Mr. Lawrence wrote, his intention was to get personal interviews with some of the residents and ask them all about their backgrounds and how they found themselves at Chances Are. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “That’s out.”
She continued to read, becoming more agitated by the minute. She was right when her first thought told her to scrap the whole documentary idea. Not only did they want to interview all of the girls, but the staff as well. They also wanted to take footage of the activities in the house. And with the girls’ permission, get interviews from any family members. She couldn’t see that happening.
Closing the folder, Dione leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her index fingers. She’d only given the proposal a cursory glance when it had come in two months earlier and dismissed it as something she had no intention of participating in. But after a careful review, she had even more doubts than before. Only now, the dire situation at Chances had escalated.
Well, she conceded, if she was going to go through with it, as she was feeling compelled to do, she’d have to outline her own set of requirements. But she’d let the girls decide at the house meeting.
Chapter 2
Garrett Lawrence sat in the tight editing suite of his production studio, facing three television monitors, the video player and recording decks, putting together the final touches on an instructional video for a collection agency. The piece was well done, all of the important points were highlighted with animated graphics over narration. He knew the client would be pleased with the finished product—and he was bored. He wanted a project he could really sink his teeth into, something that had meaning, substance.
When he’d opened his production company four years earlier, he saw himself as the next Spike Lee, doing important, controversial work. The day had yet to arrive. It had taken all of his savings and a major bank loan to get G.L. Productions up and operational. For a small facility, it had all the latest in digital equipment and could easily compete with the bigger houses if it had the chance. But a small, black company already had two strikes against it right from the starting gate. Small and black.
If he could only get that Williams woman to accept the proposal, he knew that would be his ticket. Although, he had to admit that wasn’t his thought two months earlier. But now he had thirty days to get her to agree, or he would lose his grant, unless he could miraculously find another shelter for wayward girls that fit the grant criteria. And grants like this one were few and far between.
In the two months since he’d made his telephone pitch, which he followed with a formal letter and the outline of what he wanted to accomplish, he’d called several times to try to get an appointment, but he’d never been able to get past her assistant. He knew if he could sit down face-to-face with her, he could convince her to go for the project.
Garrett made an adjustment to the image on the screen. Who did she think she was anyway that she didn’t even have to give him the courtesy of a reply?
Satisfied, he turned off the equipment and stood, stretching his arms above his head hoping to loosen the kinks from hours of sitting.
Chances Are. Hmm. Wonder where they came up with the name? Chances were, loose girls wound up in places like that, or worse. People needed to see that. See them for what they really were: a burden on society.
When the request for proposals from the funding agency had been sent out, he originally had no intention of going for a contract documenting the lives of teen mothers—glorifying them. The very idea resuscitated the anger and the hurt he struggled to keep buried every day. It was his business partner and best friend, Jason Burrell, who’d finally convinced him that with the money and the exposure, it was the ticket they needed to take the company to the next level. “Get away from this instructional BS and do something worthwhile,” he’d said.
Reluctantly, Garrett had agreed. He knew it would be hard working with and talking to a group of females who epitomized everything he despised. But he knew Jason was right. So he did his research and found Chances Are, and wrote his proposal based on the premise that the director would agree to be filmed. Ha. So much for assuming.
“Hey, man. Whatsup?”
Garrett turned toward Jason who stood in the doorway. “Just finishing up the collection agency piece.”
“Hmm, glad that’s out of the way.” Jason stepped into the room and straddled an available stool. “Hear anything from the shelter?”
“Naw. Not a word. She doesn’t even have the decency to return our calls.” He sneered. “Probably too busy trying to keep those girls out of trouble—again.”
“I say we start looking elsewhere before we blow the grant, man. It’s a lot of money to lose.”
“Yeah, I’ve been tossing around the same idea. Problem is, the grant was real specific about what it wanted: a documentary on teen mothers living in a residential setting